


Your delight, my tolerance

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha!hannibal, Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Read, Beta!Will, Classical Music, Detective Graham strikes again, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Missing scene from Digestivo, OdeToMurder, Omega Verse, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Even if Will wasn’thormonally relevant, as Betas were often referred to, he was perfectly conscious that his presence awakened Hannibal’s controversial instincts, which reputedly wouldn’t react to an Omega’s most sincere expression of interest.Written for Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive’s #OdeToMurder





	Your delight, my tolerance

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @Shinshingummy for their willingness to give a brief correction for this work, which has no real expectations on my part |･ω･)

 

 

“I’m not going to miss you,” Will vowed, deliberately wounding Hannibal’s disproportionate pride with his lucid coldness. “I’m not going to find you. I’m not going to look for you.”

His bed smelled like Hannibal. His entire house did. Despite his underdeveloped olfactory sense, Will clearly distinguished notes of Hannibal’s familiar, peculiar scent permeating from the blankets clenched in his tight grip, previously arranged in an inviting, comforting nest.

“I don’t want to know where you are, or what you do.” Will’s mere presence appealed to his Alphan instincts. Hannibal consciously elected to remind him of his attentive care whenever the chance arose, uncaring for Will’s incompatible dynamic. “I don’t want to think about you anymore.”

Refusing an unhinged Alpha on the verge of his rut, in particular a notorious serial killer with an unhealthy obsession for himself, wasn’t very smart, but Will had had enough. Simmering in his pungent, revealing possessiveness, in the shape of an intoxicating fragrance surrounding their proximity, Will glimpsed betrayal in his unrelenting, intense stare.

Harbouring few illusions about Hannibal’s controversial capacity to forgive, faced with clear, unequivocal rejection, Will eventually surrendered to the daunting perspective of his own imminent, hopefully painless death. Sitting opposite him, Hannibal visibly considered for a tense fraction of a second to simply follow his urgent intent and kill Will in his own bed, among soft pillows and clean sheets, in spite of his own previous efforts to rescue him from the horrors of the Muskrat Farm.

With his intentionally harmful declaration, Will presumed to distance himself from Hannibal in a relatively neat manner, offering his unconventional friend an implicit invitation to depart with his so precious freedom intact and the valuable possibility to rebuild an equally fulfilling existence with no place for distractions. Will still struggled to think of Abigail and himself in such terms, but Hannibal could certainly manage. Besides, in his inhuman detachment, he could overcome his typical arrogance and hormonal interferences. He was always superior to his own Alphan urges, screaming for undue attention in a way Will would never first hand experience.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

As his controversial friend disappeared through his front door with apparent indifference, Will acknowledged his admirable elegance, in accepting such harsh words with composure. Will had no doubt he’d never see him again, until Hannibal reappeared at Jack’s predictable arrival, relinquishing himself to an ill fate in the crepuscular darkness.

 

 

During his long, anything but painless recovery from his clumsy attempt at joint atlantic diving, Will intermittently appreciated the hypnotic, repetitive motion of regular waves on a floating boat lulling him to sleep with gentle insistence.

Presumably under Chiyoh’s medical care, Will’s condition remained stable. His disfigured face felt constantly melting but blessedly numb, as his damaged shoulder itched under bandages and antibiotic ointments. Near his aching body, Will discerned Hannibal’s still unresponsive limbs catch the feeble light filtering through thick curtains, similarly far from healed.

Will was worried about his companion’s state, whenever his transient wakefulness remained long enough for him to realise Hannibal should have woken up already. Will subconsciously denied his possible demise, along with his own emotional attachment.

Between an uneventful awakening and the following, Will distinguished renowned pieces of classical music playing in the otherwise silently sinister background. Despite his dull hearing and mediocre musical education, Will recognized Mozart and Chopin, various beautiful compositions which briefly disrupt his inevitable boredom without disturbing his recover.

“It smoothes his senses,” Chiyoh once declared, hinting at her helpless, unperturbed assisted. It suddenly occurred to Will that tactile stimulation usually improved the condition of comatose patients, helped them regain consciousness. Will reached out with his unarmed hand towards Hannibal’s, intertwining their fingers with careful shifts of his wrist. Despite his own general uselessness, Will wondered if an insignificant touch made a difference to Hannibal’s unchanging situation.

As Will got boldly acquainted with his tepid, bare shoulder, briefly caressing his own cheek against Hannibal’s loose forearm, an encouraging, involuntary purr resonated from his hirsute chest, joining the notes of Vivaldi’s _Four Seasons_.

 

 

In those lengthy months of forced cohabitation that followed their extenuating rehabilitation, Will learned to tell Prokofiev apart from Stravinsky, whose names he previously couldn’t even pronounce correctly. In Hannibal’s company, Will had ample occasion to refine his own classic culture, adding to his adequate repertoire pieces belonging to French, Russian, Italian and German composers. Considering Will couldn’t initially distinguish Beethoven from Mozart, he called himself proud of his own self-taught education, provided with hours of melodical exposure and minimal technical support.

Hannibal didn’t oversee his learning, direct his endeavours nor surveil his progresses; at least not _directly_. Hannibal always enjoyed his musical sessions privately, secluded in his private room, distant from Will’s own but letting his selected music surround them in an enveloping embrace.

Will was about to kindly invite Hannibal to shove his recent necessity for isolation where the sun didn’t shine; on the ocean floor, where Will left his own. If coexistence was all it took to inhibit Hannibal’s obsession, Will would have spontaneously outed his blatant worthlessness as roommate on their first meeting.

After Hannibal’s umpteenth post-lunch retreat, whilst Will found himself seriously inclined to confront him about his unusual behaviour, a thin layer of untimely sweat on Hannibal’s nape caught his attention.

Hannibal had been drinking copious amounts of water lately, more than his past rehabilitation had ever required, and Will suspected it wasn’t because he suddenly felt guilt over his spoiled liver.

 

 

Will required an ulterior month, and consequently another intense session of Saint-Saëns’ symphonic poems, before unceremoniously cornering him in their living room.

“Classical music exercises a pacifying influence on Alphas,” Hannibal explained, studiously resisting the urge to wipe his sweat off his upper lip. “Recent studies showed an indisputable correlation between its rhythmic patterns and hormonal imbalances of transitional nature.”

Will attempted to silently guess an interpretation of such statement. Medicine wasn’t exactly Will’s _forte_ , but he possessed plenty of scientific knowledge to deduce Hannibal’s indirect admissions.

“My current conditions underwent significant changes, which lead to an acceleration of my metabolic processes,” Hannibal continued. “Among other biological aspects, my organism presently urges for an important influx of chemo-tactile stimuli.”

Frowning, Will extrapolated, “You’ve been in rut.” Considering Will hadn’t noticed his state, except for its increasing frequency, Hannibal might have been enduring very aggravating situations in Will’s presence for a long time, sharing meals with him while suppressing an uncomfortable erection under the table.

“This explains your escapes,” Will admitted, inexplicably vexed over their circumstances. It disoriented Will, knowing he couldn’t provide for all sorts of Hannibal’s necessities. After his extended period of touch starvation in his solitary confinement, Hannibal had expressed a strong desire for prolonged contact only on top of that sheer, unforgettable cliff.

It occurred to Will that Hannibal’s Alphan instincts, which arguably never coincided with the typical traits of his co-dynamicals, should be attributed to an underlying cause. Specifically, to an outside person. Will couldn’t resist asking, “Triggered by whom?”

As his own nape started dampening, Hannibal’s very eloquent expression suggested Will was supposed to know the answer to his own inconsiderate question. Will swallowed.

Keeping into account his scarce sexual initiative, his unsurprising inexperience would deter Will from engaging in exotic experiences, straying from already wild, non-straight paths. Will suspected Hannibal had not such compunction, curious and uninhibited as he was, but Will couldn’t imagine Hannibal’s _hormonal_ ache included himself.

Hannibal expectantly sat cross-legged on their lavish couch, whose damask cotton struck Will as fancier than required, with its distracting pattern. He never opposed to Hannibal’s furniture choices, not even in front of challenging selections, but admiring the little wrinkles under Hannibal’s significant weight, clasping hands over his groin, Will wondered if his own absent blindness hadn’t been enough to endure for the both of them.

Before any second thoughts could assault him, Will unfastened his trousers and took them off, shortly after followed by those elaborate underwear, which Hannibal fastidiously insisted on providing. Will wasn’t confident about their elastic band.

Straddling Hannibal’s rigid lap, naked from his waist downwards, Will hoped divesting him would proceed as smoothly. Will purposefully avoided thinking he had never ever seen, let alone _touched_ , an enlarged knot outside of crime scenes, which certainly wasn’t encouraging.

“I don’t purr,” Will hastily declared before Hannibal would comment on his ungainly, clumsy maneuvers. “Don’t expect me to.” Will discarded Hannibal’s hands, casually posed to cover his tended crotch, industriously unlatched his belt buckle, then stopped his efforts, noticing Hannibal’s poor participation.

“The first time I smelled the fevered sweetness of your encephalitis, I mistook its heat for an unusual Omegan scent,” Hannibal said, quite nonsensically from Will’s perspective. “It was charming, on its own way. I unconsciously sought its essence, until I realized an illness was affecting it. That was probably also the first time I associated disappointment to you.”

Unmoving, Will considered for an awful second the possibility that he had entirely misread Hannibal’s implications. Unfortunately, Will was already bestriding him pantless.

“You’re mostly unpredictable to me, Will. I don’t understand your intentions.” Hannibal’s hands were holding his spread thighs, stabilizing him with his sweaty palms while Will held his soft cock with his trembling own. Hannibal probably wouldn’t admit half truths and elusive metaphors for an answer. Will had hoped an impelling rut would prevent any normal Alpha to think straight, for some foolish reason including Hannibal within the category.

“Do you remember when we spoke about your appetites?” Will inquired.

“You told me you don’t share mine,” Hannibal bitterly answered.

Will aimed for direct eye contact, lazily caressing his dick to hardness. “You can’t expect me to feel your same loss of control, which I know you _do_ ,” Will said, more than half serious. Will suspected his empathy would be perfectly able to replicate Hannibal’s experience, given the possibility. Will was also sure he didn’t need his mind to sublimate further.

“I know you’d prefer to disappear in your mind palace when you feel vulnerable, possibly surrounded by lovely music and far from the unaware cause of your arousal.” Will attempted to finish with Hannibal’s undressing, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. Finding his way towards Hannibal’s throbbing knot. “But trust me to help you instead, because I understand your craving for intimacy.”

Will didn’t attempt to kiss him, in spite of his own words. Will took Hannibal and himself in hand and stroked eagerly, from root to head, appraising their basic anatomical differences without uttering another sentence.

Feeling himself flush for his own boldness, Will wondered if Hannibal included biting in his usual bonding experiences. Will wouldn’t benefit from his pheromonal release, but he didn’t find himself completely against the perspective of reciprocal marking.

Hannibal’s skin was plum and slippery, his length adorned with veins thicker than his own, his breaths increasingly erratic, his strong fingers unyielding with their tight grip, when Will recognized an healthy, familiar purring coming from his fast rising and falling chest.

Will wouldn’t have said he _delighted_ in the lewd sight of his unleashed companion covered in his semen, when he inevitably came on their clammy skin, but tolerance was similarly distant to describe his state of mind. Will had emptied himself between them, but could continue his insistent caresses and tender ministrations, tending to Hannibal’s ruts until Hannibal needed tending.

 

 

“For your information, neither I purr,” Hannibal absentmindedly observed, while choosing an adequate outfit for their approaching concert night. Hannibal felt compelled to institutionalize such occurrence, since Will repeatedly requested compositions without knowing their names.

“You do,” Will retorted, impassive. Approaching Hannibal from behind, Will could presently hear it, low and familiar. “You still are.” Will wondered whether Hannibal’s stamina could be considered overdeveloped, for his age. Will came to associate such sound with arousal.

“Never before has my mating call been compared to a mere _purr_ ,” Hannibal admitted, patient in his stoic dejection. “It was said to induce a copious slick production in fertile Omegas within three feet, were I not under adequate medications.” His possessive arms encircled Will’s waist, as his nose sank in Will’s unshaven beard, dress temporarily forgotten.

“Such a pity it doesn’t affect me,” Will countered, allowing his companion open physicality. After their acceptance of Hannibal’s instinctive drive to tactically interact with him, more so than in their shared past, Will encouraged his unobtrusive, deferential touch.

“A small price to be paid for your delectable moans,” Hannibal suggestively added, purring his loud contentment with singular complacency. Frowning at Hannibal’s insinuating remark, Will craned his neck to emotionless retort, “I don’t _moan_.”

Hannibal smiled. “And I haven’t heavily scent-marked you at my leisure for the past month.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m clearly fond of Betas and classical music.  
> If you enjoy my production, you might also enjoy [its attached photoset](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/349928) on Pillowfort, since Tumblr flagged the same post.


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